Sober
by Lonewolf77
Summary: After waking up in Port Royal with no memory of the past 24 hours, I get caught up in a battle of lies, survival, and wits. Will I take this second chance at life? Or will I once again drown in the sea of rage and anguish I had made for myself? AU
1. Forgot to Rememeber

**Hello to all my readers. **

**This is my very first posted fanfic, but please don't let that stop you from telling me that I suck. It's ok. Really. ****I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

**Rated M for language, sexual situations, and violence. **

**Disclaimer: I only own my OC; everything else is Disney's. **

* * *

I woke up feeling like shit. 

Well, it was actually more like I became aware of the fact that I was feeling like shit. I had yet to actually wake up.

But all that mattered was that I was in pain. Lots of pain.

Every ambient sound around me had been amplified tenfold in my head, producing lots of ringing and nausea. The chirping of crickets sounded like a hundred whistles being blown simultaneously in a gymnasium; the light wind sounded like a hurricane blowing in my ear. Even the ground beneath me seemed to me moving beneath me like is as on a spinning top.

Fortunately, I knew these symptoms well enough to diagnose the problem. Unfortunately, the severity that I was experiencing said symptoms made the problem a whole lot worse.

This was not a good hangover.

This is not the "wild, party night in Vegas, take a few Advil in the morning" hangover.

No. This was the "wake up on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, stripped naked with your kidney missing," hangover.

How ironic was it then, that when I painfully opened my eyes, I found myself staring at a brown ground.

_Fuck_

I inhaled deeply through my nose and sucked in a good amount of dry dirt that I immediately sneezed back out violently, making my headache worse even still.

_Yup, definitely dirt. _

I closed my eyes again and tried to roll onto my back, but stopped as I felt something very large and very hard press against my spine and my head. Cautiously, I reached up to my shoulders and felt rough straps on each side.

_Guitar. _I thought, and when the significance of that information hit, my brain added _Odd_.

I moved my hands down over my body. My clothes were still on.

And no missing body parts from what I could tell.

I sat up and forced my eyes open, sending another wave of gut rot through my body. It was still dark wherever I was; the only light coming from various lamps on the surrounding buildings. Unfortunately, the light was not bright enough for me to make out what the building might be or where they would be located.

Figuring that I might as well take a look around, I got up on my feet. But no sooner had I taken my first step forward, I was laying face down on the ground again; partly because of my hangover and partly because there was something rather large right in front of me.

I raised my head and spit out dust, feeling something soft underneath my shins. Looking back over my left shoulder I saw the faint outline of a bag.

My bag.

I wasn't really sure how I knew it was mine because I never remembered having it with me for over a month. But something in the back of my brain went _HEY! That's yours…_

Moving on my hands and knees, I crawled over to it, and surveyed it in the limited light. It was a sturdy black fiber with the initials ALV embroidered on one end.

Definitely mine.

I quickly unzipped the main compartment and rummaged through the contents until I pulled out a blue glass bottle with BAWLS was written in white on the side. Before the metal cap I had taken off and tossed aside could hit the ground, the heavenly liquid was pouring down my throat and into my stomach. Almost immediately, the headache began to subside and Mother Nature's orchestra backed off, leaving me with a much clearer head and sharper vision.

Some people take medication to help subside the after effects of alcohol. Others ate tones of meat in the morning. I drank caffeine.

As my vision began to clear I noticed another, smaller athletic bag laying next to the first. It looked as if it were going to explode; it was packed so tight. I recognized it was my gym bag.

And it was at this sight that the warning bells in my head began to go off. Cautiously I looked around again taking in the details around me while simultaneously trying to remember what happened before I passed out.

The last thing I recalled was me hitting concrete. Concrete. So why did I wake up on a _dirt_ surface. But I couldn't even remember why I had passed out in the first place. I assumed it was alcohol because, yes I admit, I'm a slight addict, and drinking was something I did on a regular basis. However, it had been quite a while since I had experienced a hangover as bad as this one.

_Maybe I was drugged_.

That would explain why I felt like crap and couldn't remember anything.

_But what about these bag?_

Why would someone drug me, move me, but leave all this stuff here with me? I don't even know what was in the bags; well besides the Bawls. The more I tried to remember what I had been doing the night before, the more the images seemed to escape me.

But before I could think any further, as scream ripped through the air like a knife through hot butter, and was stifled as quickly as it had come.

Figuring I might as well try and find out what the fuck was going on, I grabbed _my_ bags and began walking briskly towards the general direction of the scream. I assumed I was going the right way, as the muffled shouts and a low mumblings becoming clearer. Passing through the maze of buildings, I briefly noticed the strange, almost archaic architecture they held.

But that observation quickly vanished as I heard a low, slurred voice say, "…don't move, this 'ill be over quick lil' miss…"

Now certain that someone was, a girl, was in considerable distress, I continued forward, vaulting over a four foot, stone wall (not an easy feat with three pieces of luggage) and landing in yet another alley way.

And it was there that I saw them. They were but shadows, but I saw them.

The girl had her chest pushed up against the brick side of building by a large, presumably male, figure dressed in an overly large coat and _very_ tight pants. One hand was against her neck, holding it against the wall while the other was slung over her shoulder and down her shirt. He was rubbing his hips from side to side against the small of her back, most likely to let her know of his growing arousal.

I continued to stay in the shadows; I didn't want to walk into some kinky little bedroom game some horny couple had decided to play.

But then I saw the gleaming tears down her cheeks and her almost silent whispers.

"Please…please. Don't do this. Please…"

And at that moment I knew that this was real. The tone; those words; those tears. They were all real. This girl was about to get raped. And while I may have ignored a lot of things in my life, this was not one.

So I set my bags down and started moving my way out of the shadows and towards the assailant. As I was culminating my plan of attack, I noticed a small pile wood scrap piled under a window. Pulling a three foot piece out as silently as I could, I slipped my body against the opposite wall and began to slid down towards the attack.

As I was getting nearer, I saw that the girl's left breast was exposed and watched as the man's hand began to hike her dress up. I was running out of time.

Taking two steps forward until I was diagonal to the man's left should I said, "Hey,"

As soon as his head turned the wood smacked across his face with such force that the piece broke in two and a sickening _crack_ shot through the sky.

The man stumbled to the backwards clutching his face and blood began to flow. But he had gotten no more than two steps backwards before I tackled him to the ground. Straddling his chest, I rained blow after blow upon his face; left, right, left right; sending his blood, as well as my own, flying into the air. He tried using his hands to protect his face, but the force of my punches only caused him to repeated smack himself. As his resistance became weaker, so did my adrenaline; my hands were beginning to sore and soon I had stopped the punches and only stared at his face, which was becoming more swollen by the second.

"Son of a bitch," I said before I kneed him in the crotch.

I rose slowly, never staring down at the bloody face beneath me, but instead looking over to the silently weeping girl now slumped on the ground.

I slowed my breathing and looked at my hands. The force of my punches had split the skin on most of my knuckles and was oozing a thin coat of crimson. Looking back up I, moved a step closer.

"Hey," I said in the gentlest tone I could muster. "Are you ok?"

As soon as I crouched down to her level, she threw her arms around me and began crying, loudly, into my shoulder.

"Shhhhh…" I whispered; patting her back. "It's ok. Everything is going to be fine. He's not going to bother you anymore, I promise."

"I…I was just…walking back to my house. And…and he, he grabbed me and drug me back here. And he said if, if I screamed that he would kill me…and then he almost…he almost…"

"I know," I interrupted, not wanting her to go into shock from recalling the events.

Grasping her shoulders, I pulled her up.

"Look, you're going to be fine. Just, breathe and relax."

Her sobs began to subside, and as she raised her head, I saw her face for the first time. Although it was still dark, I could make out the basic features of her face.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Elizabeth." She replied in a much bolder and confident voice, which made me feel loads better.

"Alright Elizabeth," I said as I moved and grabbed my luggage. "Which way is your house?"

She stared at me, and for a moment I thought she might faint or something.

"You're going to take me home?" She asked.

"Well of course," I replied, hauling the bags over my shoulders and wincing slightly from the pain in my hands. "I want to make sure that you get home ok. And I don't really think you want to make that trip alone, do you?"

She shook her head.

"Well then, I suggest me get moving."

Slowly she turned and began walking, with me treading at her heels. For the first few minutes we moved in silence. She didn't seem to want to discuss what had transpired only minutes ago and I didn't push it. I knew it was difficult to talk of things like that.

But to my surprise, Elizabeth broke the wall of silence.

"What is your name?"

Such a simple question.

Now, I knew my name. I really did. That wasn't what stopped me dead in my tracks and procured a strange glance from Elizabeth. It was the amount of time that particular information took to get from my memory to my mouth. This caused me more distress than the fact that I woke up in the middle of a strange town and the fact that I almost watched an attempted raping.

"Annalisa." I said finally and slowly resumed walking; trying desperately to remember what the fuck I had forgotten.


	2. An Improbable Conclusion

**Well chapter two is finally up (does the happy dance). Sorry I take a while on the updates, but with band back up again and my nit picky writing, it takes a few days to get it right. I hoping for weekly updates, but we'll see. Anyway, read and enjoy…then REVIEW! **

**Disclaimer: All I own is Annalisa, everything else is Disneys...**

* * *

As soon as we approached Elizabeth's house, I knew she was not hurting for money. The decorative gate, intricate landscaping, and huge mansion practically screamed filthy rich.

Not that it bothered me or anything; it was just an observation. What did bother me was the fact that I was sure I had seen this house before. It looked like something that would reside in Beverly Hills, surrounded by super mansions just like it. But no, it was the diamond in the ruff; the crown jewel in a sea of rocks.

"What does your dad do?" I asked, as Elizabeth unlatched the driveway gate.

"He's the governor," she replied flatly.

_Well that explains it, _I thought, still following Elizabeth like a lost puppy dog, which, in many respects, I was.

_But why would anybody this rich have a gravel driveway?_

Before I could even come up with a reason for why I wanted to know this, we stopped at a large, two frame door painted the whitest white I had ever seen. I reached my arm out to ring the doorbell, but found that there was not one in sight. I looked on the other side; no rectangular button either.

_What the fuck? No doorbell? Great…now I…_

But my ranting thoughts were interrupted by Elizabeth, pounding fists on wood.

"Damn girl, calm down," I said, almost chuckling.

She ignored me apparently, and simply continued knocking (the term knocking being used loosely; beating the shit out of it would be more accurate.) I was actually concerned the wood would splinter and crack from the force being exerted upon it.

Luckily it was saved from its inherent destruction by a man, in funny clothes and a fake wig, who opened the door with a lantern and a mouth gaped open.

"Mi… milady," he stammered, as though he couldn't believe what was right infront of his eyes. I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

_Milady? Is she royalty or something?_

I turned my head and opened my mouth to ask her what this guy was talking, but before any words could come out of my mouth, another voice with a thick British accent joined in the fray.

"Elizabeth?"

My head snapped back straight ahead as the door was opened wide; revealing a man in his mid thirties, dressed in enough brocade to be considered a Marty Graz float. I simply stared at him, trying to figure out if this was a joke; albeit a sick and twisted one. I half expected a camera crew to jump out from behind a shrub and yell 'Gotcha!'

Unfortunately, none such event occurred.

What did happen was Elizabeth saying "Norrington", running over the threshold and right into him. She grabbed his jacket and sobbed hard, almost violently, as though if she let go, he would not be there. He seemed too stunned to do anything other than look down at her, and then up at the doorman, who simply shrugged his shoulders. At this response, he began to back her back awkwardly while whispering "its ok," over and over.

He raised his eyes to look at me still standing in the doorway.

"Who are you?"

I was just about to answer when yet another voice called out, "What's going on in here?", and an older gentleman walking in from another room dressed in clothing similar to Norrington's, just a different color. He had a gray curly wig that hung to the middle of his torso and he was holding a glass full of amber liquid.

But it wasn't full for very long because as soon as he saw the sight before him, the glass slipped from his hand and shattered upon contact with the floor.

"Elizabeth, what has happened? Are you hurt? What is going on?" He began, asking question after question.

"Governor," Norrington said with such resoluteness that it shocked the man into silence. "I suggest we let Miss Swann calm down before we bombard her with questions,"

_So the old guy is her dad. Great. Now they're going to start quizzing me, since she seems unable to speak coherently._

But to my vast surprise, Elizabeth suppressed her tears and lifted her head out of Norrington's chest.

"I…I went to see Will,"

This woman had the amazing ability to make the most simple, minute statements in something dramatic for as soon as she said this, the tone in the room turned sour. Norrington's face suddenly became somber while her father rolled his eyes.

Apparently not noticing either of these two things, Elizabeth continued.

"…and I was on my way back, when he…he came out of nowhere…it all happened so fast, but then when I realized what he wanted…time seemed almost to stop…and I was so scared…"

She was almost rambling at this point, but the two men seemed to put two and two together.

"Elizabeth," her father said breathlessly. "Elizabeth, please don't tell me, don't tell me that he…"

But she shook her head and then glanced my way.

"She saved me,"

* * *

They led Elizabeth into a small parlor where four other men, all dressed in a similar fashion, stared fixedly at them. Norrington led Elizabeth to the chair closest to the door, gently helped her down, then sat in the seat on her left while her father sat at her right.

"Good god commodore, what's happened?" asked yet another man who was younger, but still carried that firm British command voice. He also with a white wig and wore a funny hat to accompany it.

There was an eerie silence in the room as no one seemed to want to discuss the subject. I simply stood in the doorway, half hoping that these men would be so concerned with dear Elizabeth that I could sneak out and find out where the hell I was.

"Elizabeth, please tell me that's not your blood,"

The governor's question cut the Achilles Heel of my escape plan and snapped my attention to the girl in front of me. My eyes quickly scanned every inch of her, until I saw, very dimly, dark streaks between her shoulder blades and at the base of her neck that contrasted sharply with the light fabric of her dress.

Luckily, I realized that she was not hurt, and before all hell broke loose quickly said, "It's me."

For the first time since I had been in the house, the entire focus of the room shifted to me. All fourteen pairs of eyes bore down upon me, waiting for an explanation.

I raised my hands, and winced slightly as the pain not only came back, but came back with a vengeance. I showed my palms, red with the blood that had seeped through the fingers. As I turned my hand around, I heard a sharp intake of breath. Ripped skin graced each knuckle with a levee of dried blood encircling them. Various cuts were littered each finger and from the fingernails to my wrist, it was pure red.

"Miriam!" the Governor sudden bellowed, making me jump slightly.

A older women wearing a huge, pompous dress came bustling in.

"Yes sir?"

"Please bring a basin of water and some linen strips, and hurry!" he said and she quickly bowed her head and shuffled back through the door.

The Governor turned back to me and said, "Please take a seat, Miss…"

"Uh, Vargas" I said, walking cautiously towards a chair in the corner that, _coincidentally, _was right next to an open bottle of Brandy. As I sat down, the same maid, Miriam, came back out carrying a large bowl near full to the brim with water and white clothe strips over her shoulder. She rushed over to me and sat the basin down on a table next to me.

"May I inquire as to how you received those injuries?" Norrington asked, in possible the most proper and repressed form possible.

I smirked a bit at the memory.

"Well, lets just say that the guy who was uh, _bothering_ her won't look too good for the next month or so,"

That definitely raised some eyebrows.

* * *

The first thing Elizabeth noticed about Annalisa was that she was definitely not from around there. Besides her obvious lack of clothes (From her ankles to her knees, skins was showing, and almost her entire arms were barren), and fashion (the shirt she was warring clung tightly to her body and she was wearing what looked like men's breeches that had been cut off), her dialect was unlike anything Elizabeth had ever heard. The accent had a hint of Spanish, but also something else that was completely unique. Her speech bordered on vulgar, showing none of the propriety and quietness of English women, but instead a boldness and bluntness usually reserved for those like Jack Sparrow. Elizabeth was sure the Commodore was about to have a heart attack from the answers he was receiving.

"So you hit him?" he asked.

"Yeah," Annalisa replied. "about twenty times actually. It's been a while since I laid somebody out like that, hence the injuries, but I guess he had it coming to him, so it's cool. I mean, for him to try and do something like that, I don't know, it just pissed me off."

If the situation wasn't so serious, Elizabeth would have laughed at the shocked expressions on the Commodore's and her father's faces. She then turned her attention back to Annalisa, who was still getting her hands cleaned and bandaged. It was at that moment that she realized that not once since she had been watching had Annalisa cried out, jerked away, or even winced from the touches being applied.

"Sir," Lieutenant Gillette said, "do you want me to go and look for this man?"

"No, no doubt he's already gone, and I doubt we could get a specific enough description to catch him," James replied.

"Oh I doubt that," Annalisa said, causing all eyes to once again turn her direction. "I knocked that jerk out, I'm sure of it. And even if he did wake up, just look around for a guy hobbling, because there's no way he's walkin' normal after the blow to the balls I gave him."

Elizabeth mouth dropped open.

_Did she just say...my god she did._

Herself, along with everyone else in the room simply stared.

Annalisa just looked around, wildly.

"What?"

* * *

One of the four men who had already been in the room stood up and was apparently going to see if they could find this guy.

But I wasn't really paying attention because my hands hurt.

A lot.

But I wasn't about to let them know that. I had my reputation to uphold.

Not that anyone here in 'Loopy, uber proper, weird fashion, fuck-n-a, where the hell am I' world, knew of me or my reputation.

But it made me feel better.

When Miriam finally finished working on my hands I surveyed her work. From my fingertips to my wrist, they were totally wrapped in half inch strips of cloth. Either the bleeding had stopped, or the material was soaking it all up, but my hands were pure white.

_Why didn't they just use bandades? Would have been way easier…but this looks real kick ass…_

There was a open bottle of brandy sitting next to me. Undrunk.

And open.

The empty glass sitting next to it made it an open invitation. Ignoring the surprised looks I was getting from the two men sitting closest to me, I filled the glass to the brim with wonderful alcohol.

I took a sip and immediately everything felt right in the world. I knew it probably wasn't the best thing to drink to solve a hangover, but I didn't care; this night had been hectic enough to warrant a reward.

I sat back in the chair, letting the Brandy work its effect over me, barely listening to Elizabeth explaining, in detail, all the events that had transpired that evening.

Well, I wasn't paying _close_ attention, but a few parts did jump out at me.

"_I rode there in a carriage…he was working on a new sword…pirates..."_

The more I listened, the more I drank.

Tthe more my eyes began to feel heavy.

The more I started to realize that something wasn't quite right.

After the third glass, my eyes began to glaze. The night's events seemed to be catching up with me as my head drooped down and the waiting darkness began to creep into my sight.

The more I listened, the more they began to come together as an impossible, yet real conclusion came to mind. These people dress in fashion that was hundreds of years old. May it was because it _was _hundreds of years ago. The more I thought about, the more it began to make perfect sense. But what made sense about being in the past? There was no way in reality that it could happen.

I closed my eyes, but before the alcohol could claim me once again I asked quietly, "What year is it?"

With my eyes closed and cast downward, I had no idea whether they were looking at me or not. But I was sure they were.

It's not exactly a normal question.

No answer.

"What year is it?" I asked again, more forcefully, using my last bit of strength to push the question out.

"1707" Norrington's strong voice said; the voice that pierced the sky; that pierced my soul and sent my brain crashing down.

"No…" I grunted before finally giving in, hoping to God that this was just a dream that I would just wake up from.

Hoping.

Praying.

_Shit_


	3. Mannerisms and Memories

**Memories and Messages**

**And so begins chapter 3. For some reason this one was really hard to right and it took a while to get it right. Cookies for all of my reviewers, and if you didn't review then you have to go sit in the corner. ENJOY!**

* * *

Weatherby Swann was surprised to see Elizabeth up and about when he entered her room the next morning. He had expected her to be at least a bit traumatized after her ordeal, but instead found her as cheerful as ever, moving about the room, getting her hair in order, her shoes on, and fixing her dress. 

_Just like her mother_, he thought with a smile.

"Good morning father," she said upon him entering the room.

"Good morning to you, Elizabeth. I'm glad to see you are up and moving, especially after the events of last night," he replied back.

She seemed to tense slightly at mention of this, but shrugged it off quickly.

"Yes, well, I don't want to dwell on it," she said, and he heard the slight quake in her voice.

"I guess it's a reminder of the dangers of traveling alone, especially at night. It's dangerous for a woman like yourself, but you…"

"If you came here to give me a speech on what I can and can't do, then you're wasting your breath," she shot back hotly. "If you have forgotten, Will is my _fiancé_. And if sneaking there in the middle of the night is the only way I'm going to see him then that's what I'm going to do."

"Yes, I know, and I plan of remedying that, you see…"

But Elizabeth, caught up in her ranting and raving, didn't hear him and continued on her crusade.

"I understand it if you don't approve of him, but he's not marrying you. I love Will, and if you truly care for me then…wait, what did you say?"

She turned back to face him with a mixture of shock and confusion written across her face. Weatherby smiled at his daughter and began to walk towards her.

"Elizabeth, last night I realized something. You truly love William, enough to risk yourself to see him. However, while you may be willing to accept the dangers of these nightly escapades, I am not. You are all I have left, and I do not want to lose you like I lost your mother. So, while it may not be the most proper union, it is definitely the most… compatible one. So I want you to be happy and marry Mr. Turner, if that is what your heart says."

Elizabeth's gasped could have sucked the air out the room, and the smile that spread across her face moments after that made everything worth it for Weatherby Swann.

"Oh father, thank you so much."

She wrapped her arms around her neck and hugged him so tight; it knocked the breath out of him.

"Well," he said, hugging her back. "I almost lost you; it's worth a little effort to keep that from happening again. If it wasn't for Miss. Vargas, I might not be hugging you right now."

Elizabeth broke the tender hug with her father and went back to her morning preparations; grabbing a large pad and dabbing powder on her cheeks.

"Speaking of which, how is she?" Elizabeth asked, finally letting go of her father.

"Well, I haven't sent anyone to check on her," he said, turning to walk out the door. "But I'm sure she's doing just fine."

* * *

**Smack!**

My forehead hit against the wall.

_How could this happen?_

I leaned my head back, and then brought it right back down onto the white wall.

**Smack!**

_This isn't possible. _

**Smack!**

_Shit._

**Smack!**

_Shit. _

**Smack!**

"Ow," I grunted, for that last hit was particularly hard increased my headache tenfold.

Deciding to give my aching head a rest, I fell back onto the wood floor and dropped my head into my hands; running my sweaty hands through my tangled, curly brown hair.

After the initial panic of waking up in an unknown bed in an unknown room, I proceeded to get extremely frustrated at last nights remembered revelation. I decided to take out my anger of the wooden table on the far side of the room which turned out not to be such a good idea because as soon as my fist's hit the table, the forgotten injuries on my hand began to hurt like hell. In response to that, I kicked the table leg, which in turn stubbed my toe. After letting loose a string of curses that would make Tony Soprano blush, I resolved to banging my head against the wall.

"What the fuck!" I yelled out in frustration, not caring if anybody heard me. I simply laid there, eyes closed, wondering what I was going to do.

A knock on the door made me jump and my eyes snap open.

"Miss Vargas," a female voice called. "Breakfast is ready and waiting in the dinning room."

"Thanks," I called back. "Be there momentarily."

I sighed and turned over; spotting my three bags piled in a corner by the bed. Quickly crawling over to them I sat up.

"Let's see what's inside," I muttered, unzipping the first bag.

I was pretty sure everything I owned was in that bag.

Crammed in one end was a drum pad, complete with two sets of sticks, a small amp, my CD case, a case of Bawls, and my personals bag. On the other side were my laptops, my Ipod, Ipod speakers, and any cords I would possibly ever need.

_Where the hell was I going?_

I grabbed my PC and zipped the bag shut. I flipped it open, held my breath and pressed the power button. The black screen flickered to life and I nearly cried out in joy. While it loaded, I went back and opened the second of the identical bags.

My eyes widened in surprise when I saw the contents of the bag.

Clothes.

Lots and lots of clothes. New ones, still with the tags, along with three pairs of shoes; all stuffed in random department store sacks.

_Was I planning on coming here?_

A familiar beep signaled my computer was ready. Grabbing the screen, I set it on the bed and logged in. Clicking Start, I went straight to Firefox.

**Error loading page. Please check connection. **

_No fucking Internet dumbass. _

Hoping to find some background information of my whearabouts, I opened Encarta Encyclopedia. Moving the cursor to _search_ I typed in 1707 and hit enter.

The first result that came up was a timeline of the last century. Clicking that link, I scanned over the events from 1600 to 1720 (a skill I honed in high school). One particular event caught my eye.

**Age of Victorian Society and Mannerisms**

I clicked it and began reading the article.

The more I read, the more I realized who totally screwed I was. I had only finished the first page when I violently shut the lid of my computer and pressed my face against the mattress.

I was so incredibly fucked.

* * *

The second thing Elizabeth noticed about Annalisa was that she had no sense of table manners at all. 

She wandered in the dining room looking like a lost puppy and dressed in pants, shoes, and a short sleeved shirt that had _The Used_ printed on the front.

"Well good morning," Elizabeth said smiling, ignoring the revealing and indecent clothes. "I hope you slept well."

"Good enough I guess," she replied, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. "Although I am a bit curious as to how I ended up there."

Elizabeth chuckled a bit at the memory, "Well you sort of, uh, fell asleep in the chair last night, and so Commordore Norrington carried you up to a guest bedroom."

"Oh," was all Annalisa said, still looking around cautiously, as if she were certain ghosts were going to pop out of the walls and attack her. .

Silence stood between them until Elizabeth said, "You must be hungry, please, take a seat."

Annalisa didn't move and for a moment Elizabeth thought she might refuse. But then she walked forward, pulled out the chair right in front of Elizabeth, and sat down.

As if on cue, two servants walked in a placed a plate full of fruit and bread in front of them.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said curtly at the same time Annalisa muttered, "Thanks,"

Elizabeth picked up her fork and knife and cut a thin slice off a peach. She stuck her fork into the soft fruit and brought it to her mouth. As she ate it, Elizabeth looked up to see Annalisa take a huge bite of a similar peach, letting the juice dribble down her chin before wiping it on a corner of her shirt.

No manners at all.

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile.

"So Annalisa, I…"

"A.L." Annalisa interrupted.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, confused.

"Call me AL," she repeated. "It's what my friends call me."

And for the first time, Elizabeth saw Annalisa smile; a true, genuine smile. It seemed to brighten her face considerable, and Elizabeth realized that she had green eyes.

"Well, AL, I'm glad you consider me a friend. And I would like to thank you for what you did yesterday. I hate to consider what could, what would have happened if you hadn't."

"You're welcome," AL replied. "And don't dwell on it too much; it's best to forget."

"I guess you speak from experience?"

"Plenty."

At this last statement, Annalisa's tone dropped, the light from her face gone; her smiled vanished; Elizabeth could tell this wasn't a subject to be touched upon.

"Well, while I am grateful for you being there, I am curious as to why you were out so late at night?"

AL paused in the middle of peeling her banana.

"I was, uh, traveling," she said; the uncertainty in her voice not escaping Elizabeth's ears.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and AL continued to peel her banana.

"Did you come from the colonies?" Elizabeth asked.

"Um, yeah,"

"Oh,"

So that explained the strange customs and dress.

"Don't you think it was a bit dangerous to be out at such an hour? Alone?"

It was AL's turn to raise her eyebrow.

"Didn't you?"

* * *

So apparently this rock I'm stuck on is an island, located in some unknown region of the Caribbean, known as Port Royal. I'm staying in the house of Governor Weatherby Swann, the richest man on the island and one of the most influential people in London. Norrington is a commodore (I guess the equivalent to a general) and pretty much owns the Royal Navy, which just happens to be stationed here, of all places. He's known as "The Hunter" around the Caribbean, for his notorious persecution of pirates; black hearted scoundrels who raid, pillage, and plunder, blah, blah, blah…etc…etc…Oh and I'm supposed to come to some wedding dinner party thing tonight.

Great.

_I wonder if I should put myself out of my misery with this fork. It would look very nice stuck through my eye…_

But the opening door and entrance of the Governor interrupted my suicidal thoughts.

"Elizabeth, it is time to go, you wouldn't want to be late for your appoint with the Commodore, would you." he said, then, when noticing me he added, "Good morning Mrs. Vargas."

"Good morning Governor," I said in my most courteous voice, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Elizabeth grin.

"I trust your accommodations were sufficient," he said, sounding more like hotel clerk than a commanding governor.

"Wonderful," I said, thinking of the strewn mess upstairs that used to be a guest room. "And I'll be packed and out of here no later than noon,"

He raised his eyebrow and asked, "Are you heading somewhere?"

Now here I was faced with a dilemma. I could lie and say I did, but if I couldn't find a way off this rock, I would be stuck in less than ideal conditions. But if I said no, I'd be trapped here. But when I weighed sleeping in the street with sleeping in a mansion, the dilemma was quickly solved.

"No, I'll just find somewhere else to stay until I leave Port Royal. I don't want to be a burden,"

"Nonsense," he stated matter of factly, almost cutting me off. "You saved my daughter; letting you stay here is the least I can do,"

In reality, I really wanted to leave and find out how to get back to the normal world, but seeing how it would probably not be the best thing to turn down a governor, I simply nodded and said, "Thanks,"

And with that he left, with Elizabeth, leaving me alone to sit and eat. I groaned and put my head in my hands, feeling the dull throbbing of a coming headache. With my thumbs, I began to rub circles in my temples, hoping to diminish the impending pain. Slowly the ache began to recede and I sat up, thinking the battle was won.

And then my head dropped on the table, violently, uncontrollably; like a grenade went off inside my head. I felt myself scream, but heard no sound, as if the darkness that was clouding my vision swallowed the noise along with it. My heavy, sodden breathing was the only thing that told me that I was still conscious, for I was sure that my body could not take this.

And then it happened.

A rush of images and dialogues came back at me…and I…I remembered

_Hands on a table_

"_Why isn't Ryan here?"_

"_He's, uh, at a Leon's,"_

"_Wasn't I supposed to be there?"_

"_Yes, you were,"_

"_Were?"_

_A black TV screen_

"_AL, you're gona love this flick,"_

"_Yes I'm sure, now can we go get Ryan,"_

"_Later, come an sit down,"_

_A concerned friend_

"_You've got to slow down,"_

"_You do it too Jon,"_

"_But not like you AL, not as much as you,"_

_The one I swore to never see again_

"_I broke the great Annalisa, you can't give me up,"_

"_I can and I did,"_

"_Then why do you still wear my ring around your neck?"_

_A gun; the sirens_

"_You were always too weak to do it; to forget, and that's why you won't do it,"_

"_Watch me,"_

_Feet; my feet carrying me far away_

_I slipped the gun into the black folds of the fabric; into an abyss_

_Moving as fast as I could_

_A face in the darkness_

"_I think ya need sum help,"_

_Dark hands poured me a drink_

"_A secon' chance ta live da life you never gota live,"_

_My head hit the ground_

_I entered the waiting darkness_

As soon as it started, the pain stopped.

The memories stopped.

I opened my eyes and saw dark hair in front of my eyes. The room was silent except for my intense breathing and my pounding heart that I was sure would just explode out of my chest. Only my left hand was on top of my head, which was flat down on the wooden table. My right hand had a death grip on the edge of the table; the bandaged knuckles quaking from the force exerted from it. I finally forced hand to relax and raised it up; the sweat from my palms sticking to the surface of the wood and running down my arm.

I simply sat there, not really knowing what to do next. Would it happen again? Would it be worse? Why is this happening? So I just sat there and stared, waiting for the pain and the memories to visit me once again.

But they didn't.

Slowly, I got up out of the chair, keeping one hand on the table for support.

Nothing happened. I felt as fine as ever.

"Ok," I said slowly, taking a few steps forward. Deciding that I safe for the time being, I began making my way up the bedroom.

"This place is so fucked up, I don't even know what to do anymore," I muttered to myself as I ascended the stairs. I walked into my room and slammed the door behind me.

* * *

The cool Caribbean wind kissed sun drenched skin; wet with sweat and ocean mist. A strong, calloused hand gripped the wooden wheel, keeping it steady. Kohl rimmed eyes scanned the edge of the sea until settling on the peak of land off in the distance. 

Reaching into a black pocket, another hand pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Opening it up, the eyes read the message once more.

**Come in one week. Everything has been arranged. We would love to see you. **

**W & E**

Standing on the helm of the Black Pearl, Captain Jack Sparrow smiled.


	4. Never One to Refuse

**Sorry about the long update, school has started back up and between that and band it's been pretty hectic. This chapter is a little darker and focuses less on humor than the previous chapter. I had great fun writing Norrington's inner demons so we'll see how that turns out. **

**And the lyrics are from Mudvayne's IMN, so thanks to them. **

**Reviewers get brownies**

**I only own AL…everything else is Disney's**

* * *

"Absolutely not," James Norrington said flatly.

He sat in his office, overlooking the Port Royal harbor, a sight he took much pleasure in.

"James, it's just for the wedding. Only three days, just three. And he's coming alone," Elizabeth explained.

James Norrington stared at the women sitting across his desk; that beautiful woman.

The woman he loved.

He wanted to be strong; to deny her request, but he knew deep down that he wouldn't; that he couldn't. But he would put up a fight.

"Miss Swann,"

"_Elizabeth"_

"This is a town under the direction of England. We have laws to uphold, _I_ have laws to uphold. I can't simply bend the rules just for your wedding, no matter how important it is.

"_I really can. For you I can. For you I would."_

"Furthermore, I can't really understand why you would want a man like him to attend. Putting aside his obviously poor choice of occupation, he is a liar, and scoundrel, and a host of other names I cannot mention in your company, and I simply can't see why you want him to share one the happiest moments of your life."

Silence.

"_You're going to say he's a good man."_

"He's a good man James," Elizabeth said.

"_Told you," _and Norrington couldn't help but grin. "_I know you too well."_

"While he may lack manners and moral values, he saved Will and myself multiple times,"

"But weren't the circumstances of your mortal peril his doing?"

Elizabeth ignored this question, "Please James, all I ask is permission for him to be here and not hang and attend the wedding."

And then James made the mistake of looking into those eyes; her eyes; the eyes he fell in love with, and at that moment all his resolve, all his ideals, practically his sanity dissolved away. He knew he would say yes, because in all truth he had never stopped loving Elizabeth; loved her enough to do whatever it took to make her happy. And he loathed this, this weakness; his disease, because it didn't have a cure. He would never have what he wanted; what he needed.

"James?"

Her voice saying his name brought him out of his self stoicism and back into reality.

"Three days," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "He can be here for three days with no trouble, no nothing. If he even blinks an eyelash out of line, he'll be behind bars and in a noose before he can say 'savvy'"

Throwing out this last word with a slight sneer, he crossed the room and opened the door; Elizabeth stood from her chair.

"Thank you James," she said as she walked to the door.

"Think of this as my wedding gift," he said, forcing a smile he knew she would never believe was real.

She stopped in front of him and looked directly into his face; he felt her brown eyes bore into his stormy green ones; searching, ever searching for something. Then, before he knew what happened, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"You're a good man too," she whispered and walked out the door, leaving a very shocked and confused James Norrington in her wake. Shutting the door, he went back to his desk and flopped into the chair.

_No, Elizabeth, you're wrong. _

He reached for a crystal glass and grabbed a brown, dirty bottle from a bottom desk drawer.

_I should have pushed it away. _

He filled the glass half full…then filled it full.

_I should have said no. _

He lifted the glass and stared at the contents, musing at the irony of his situation; being owned, possessed, by a drink his love once described as vile. How fitting.

He tilted the glass forward and drank.

_Never one to resist._

* * *

…_this life, imn…_

Against the burning sand, my body pounded; hitting the grainy earth with such force, the ground shifted beneath me. As I lifted back up, white sand fell from my stomach like a drizzle of rain, before coming in contact again as I went back down.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

…_determined…_

"Ten," my voice was hoarse from heavy breathing and the stifling humidity. I stood with my hands behind my head; my sand covered stomach rising up and down in a silent melody.

…_to bring you all down with me, break you, beat down…_

At long last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun began to sink low; from glowing white, it changed to a dull red. For five, long hours, I had wandered around the less tame parts of Port Royal. Narrow, windy paths delved into vertigo inducing cliffs, contrasting the forest clearings and the calm streams. My wanderings eventually brought me to a quiet little beach on the far backside of the island. A giant rock monolith stood as the center piece; huge boulders laid into the sand, building up like a mountain to a thirty foot peak. As the blue waves broke against it, water was through up and over the rocks, spraying the radius with cool, Caribbean mist.

…_so hard like stone…_

And so from then until the sun began to set, I jumped, ran, vaulted, swam, and explored my little patch of found paradise. The thick humidity made quick work of my shirt, which was soon thrown in wad in the dry sand.

…_no one, no one could ever understand…_

I pulled the headphones from my ear; cutting off Chad Gray's grunting, growling, screaming voice that had sent my adrenaline into overdrive and began forcing my heart rate to slow down.

Thankfully, my workout had forced the day's worries, revelations…memories and clusterfucks into the back of my mind, and I had been able to enjoy a few hours of bliss in this heated nightmare I was in. Deciding that I should get back to the Governor's house before a search was called; I grabbed my shirt and began to make my way down the dirt path and back towards civilization.

Now I had been invited (invited being used loosely; it was really nonnegotiable) to dinner tonight and, through some more research on Encarta accompanied with much groaning, found that this was an extremely formal and repressed event. Basically I would have to wear dress-- and automatic no for me-- and refrain from talking loudly, laughing out loud, swearing, talking _vulgar_, and taking bite of food that was bigger than a marble.

Fuck that.

There way of life much banned mine.

I continued thinking about the ways I was going to pass off as a _respectable _woman until I came to a small stream. It was a sight to behold; a calm brook whose surface was so flat, I could clearly see my reflection and that over everything around me. The only anomaly in the smooth surface was the dribble of water that fell over a seven foot drop, breaking the mirror tension of the pool.

_The first step is to not smell like a pig, _I told myself, deciding that a wash off was the least I could do to help the situation.

And so off came not only my t-shirt, but also my bra, my shoes, and my top pair of shorts (I wear two pairs of shorts for some odd reason). I dipped my foot in the water tentatively; the water was surprisingly cool and refreshing. Without any further ado, I fell into the murky, green water, hoping that it wasn't too shallow. The fresh water instantly cooled my burning skin and I couldn't help but sigh in relief and relaxation. Feeling that soft silt under my feet, I made my way over to the "waterfall", reveling in the pure liquid that massage my body; first against my hair, down my neck and shoulder, then across my inked back before hitting the water once again.

…_this life imn…._

* * *

No matter how hard he tried, Jack couldn't keep his hands from constantly rubbing his chin. Where his prize twin braids had once been was no only short stubble thanks to Anna Maria. It felt strange, not having the weight pulling his head down; not that they had been heavy, but now it felt as if he were missing a part of him.

But in context, his missing braids were the _least_ of his changes. His dark black overcoat and black pants had been replaced with a red and grayed waistcoat that was trimmed with gold lace.. His shirt was trimmed with thin lace ruffles and he wore a narrow black solitaire. Gone were the various objects and trophies braided into his hair, which had been puled back and tied with a dark ribbon, as well as the multiple rings on his fingers.

He looked like a respectable gentleman.

Almost.

Dark kohl stains still remained under his eyes, and no matter how much Anna Maria has scrubbed them, the darkness refused to come off. The faded red bandana was still wrapped around the top of his head, although the tricorne concealed it fairly well. Remnants of his usual swagger were still faintly noticeable if one looked hard enough.

But all in all, Jack was a changed man. Well…looked like one at least.

It was nearly sundown when he reached the small, deserted beach on the back side of Port Royal. Even though Elizabeth has assured him that there would be no trouble from Norrington, Jack wasn't about to dock his beloved Pearl into the hun of the English Navy. So he had entrusted Gibbs with command and ordered him to lay anchor a few miles out and wait for him. It was a risk he was willing to take; after all, Elizabeth and Will had helped him get the Pearl back, and even saved his life, even though it was their fault that his life was in danger in the first place. So visiting Port Royal would be a nice chance for him to catch up with his old aquantences.

And to _borrow_ some lovely, valuable objects that would just be lying around the Governor's mansion.

And to take advantage of the free drinks.

Alright, so he wasn't going for the wedding, thought that was a definite bonus. But Elizabeht had pretty much given him full access to Port Royak, and he would take advantage of every minute.

After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

He trudged up the narrow path; every once in a while bending down, trying to stretch the tight pants out.

"Bloody uncomfortable, these things are," he muttered to himself; the slight drawl in his voice still evident.

He was now walking next to a small stream, which only increased in the insane humidity radiating from the surrounding foliage. Jack followed the flowing water upstream; noticing that the stream was growing both in size and in force. Jack then noticed the pile of clothes laying against a palm, next to the water's edge. Catching his gaze, curiosity got the better of him and he made his way over to investigate. He sifted through what were the strangest garments he had ever seen.

Breeches that looked as thought they had been hemmed extremely short

"_An extremely short person…maybe Matry came onshore…"_

Blues and white shoes – well more like slippers to him

"_Why on earth would you wear these bloody things?"_

What looked like the top half of a corset

"_Now this looks interesting…"_

But before he could examine further, a loud splash precluded a figure rising out from under the water. Acting on impulse, Jack used his quick reflexes, honed by years of pirating, to quickly dive behind nearby brush. As dark eyes packed from around a tree, Jack was surprised at what he saw.

It was a person – a woman – bathing in the center pool.

_Naked_.

But the time Jack could get a good look at her, she had moved to the far side; underneath a small waterfall. His eyes drank in her image, making out all the details he could. Her hair was dark; possible brown, and fell right past her shoulders, which were broad and stocky. She was not thin, at least not like Elizabeth was; she was built and he could see muscle definition in her arms and back; not something one would see often in woman, if at all. She raised her arms above her head and Jack got a full glimpse of her left side.

"_Absolutely a woman_,"

Jack felt his breeches tighten suddenly; he closed his eyes, partly wishing for his body to stop, partly wishing it to go on forever.

When he opened his eyes again, he his eyes caught the colors racked across her back. At first he thought it to be a bruise or wound, judging by the black, deep red and dark blue. But the vividness of the colors mixed with yellow, green, and gray, made it look more like a piece of art.

"Well I'll be damned" he muttered, finally freeing his erection from the confines on the repressing material. "A bloody tattoo,"

He marveled at the work, even though he could not see the full detail of it. But he could tell from a distance that it had supreme craftsmanship.

His hand began to move. He had half a mind to go over there now and take her from behind; rake his hands over her wet bare skin; marvel over the beautiful art etched onto her back.

Faster and faster he went, with every stroke loosing more and more control. It wasn't long before he climaxed and fell back down to earth, groaning involuntarily out loud. He heard water whip around quickly and barely had enough time to hide properly before the girl turned his way. Jack could feel her eyes in his direction and remained perfectly still, as thought afraid that even a breath would give him away. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he didn't want any trouble. At least not the early.

Jack heard the water move again, and found it safe to move again. He crept quietly; dancing from tree to brush to tree in a silent waltz, gracefully and precisely. With one last leap, he made it to the safety of the dirt path once again.

Jack continued on his way, smiling smugly to himself..

He was never one to refuse an opportune moment.

* * *

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